Page 17 of The October Trials

I almost laugh, the sound hysterical in my head.

Cage.

How fucking fitting.

Because right now, I feel exactly like I’m trapped inside one.

7

Cage

I’m in the corridor in the east partition when my father finds me.

I hear him coming the way I always hear him. Not because he’s loud, but because I was conditioned to track him before I could track anything else. Before I understood language or consequence, I understood the sound of Lucien Viscount’s footsteps, and what they meant.

Destruction.

He grabs my arm and pulls me into the alcove off the end of the hallway, and I let him because fighting him wastes energy I’m storing for more important things.

“Do you think I’m stupid, boy?”

His voice is very quiet. That’s how I know he’s actually angry. Not the booming voice he puts on for rooms full of people, but the real thing, the one that lives under all his careful exteriors. When my father goes quiet, you count your exits.

I have none.

I come to attention. Heels together, hands at my sides, chin level. Military posture, because that’s what this man built in lieu of actually raising a child. A soldier.

“No, Archon.”

“You must, because you switched the cards.”

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Hm?” I keep my face void of any emotion. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Tasting her dripping cunt was well worth it, and I’d switch them again in a heartbeat.

“Participant seven was supposed to die. Participant seven always dies in the first round, our virgin sacrifice to Asmodeus. You know that. You were the only one with access to the cards.”

“Archon, I—”

His hand comes across my face in a single flat crack that echoes off the walls. I don’t move. I don’t make a sound, swallowing it all down. I learned not to react to his punishments before I learned to tie my shoes. Reacting only makes it worse.

“No favoritism.” He bites the words off one at a time, making sure each one lands. “Do you understand me, boy? None. This process is what it is because it is clean. Because there are rules.” His eyes haven’t blinked. “Any interference you decide on—I see it. I see all of it. And there will be consequences. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

He holds my gaze for a second longer than usual. Looking for the crack. He’s always looking for the crack, because he made the crack. After all, the only reason to build something up the way he built me up is to know exactly where to press your thumb.

“You better hope that bitch we sacrificed was a virgin.”

With that, he turns and walks back toward his private office, the guards opening the door on his command and closing it behind him.

As soon as he’s out of sight, I let my shoulders drop, my posture relaxing.

From the outside, everyone assumes I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, the privileged son of the Archon of the most prestigious society in the Northeast. And maybe I was. But silver like that isn’t simply handed over—it’s earned. You pay for it with your own blood.